


Muscle Memory

by irisbleufic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Character Study, M/M, Matter of Life and Death, POV John Watson, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There's a split second between the give of the trigger—</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muscle Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LJ in March of 2011.

There's a split second between the give of the trigger—

 

_You've learned that it's in this space the reasons lurk, where the last-minute countdown unwinds. Self-defence is first and easiest: it bears the least guilt, costs less breath than the ghost of a blink to decide. No one will ever blame you for choosing to spare your own life. Easy, when you know that your prayer is a lie. There's no shame in shielding his spark for the meaning yours has yet to find._

_Next, you think of others: those who would save you if you yourself were unable. And although your raison d'être here is to save them should they need saving, you've nothing to lose in cutting to the chase. A stitch in time covers any lack of grace. You're a sharper shot than the lot of them combined. You're a betting man, and he's no better. It's impossible to think that this might not matter. That, and you're in it for what you hope comes after (the look of abject wonder on his face)._

_This instance, though, this place: it falls too far outside every well-worn line. You don't know him, but you'll come to. You don't trust him, not yet, but that's fine. It's taken so little to bring you here: a devastating smile, an understated wink, and the slightest hint of marvellous things (more promised than implied). The skull's on the mantel and the bread's in the bin, but you've no idea how much trouble you're really in. Set-ups like this one don't come with fair warning. The tea was excellent, sure, but this thrill's incandescent. You'd never have chosen to sit this one out. You never will in the endless shock-filled nights to come, not when you think of those eyes._

_There will come a time when the gun's not in your hand. A situation in which you're either both or neither on the wrong side of luck. When it does, you'll count the seconds and wish for God or fate or the stars whatever to make up its bloody mind. You'll want him to pull the trigger, for his resolve to unwind. It will be anything but easy. The safety could get stuck. One of you might slip away, leaving the other behind._

_You once dreamed that what the heart knows is the only thing that the body will never forget. They say emotions travel forward, never back. You've lost enough blood and bone to love, but it won't be enough to make you stop. You've been on this spot before, and you'll trip into it over again. Whether he'll follow you down is the question, but the answer's returning your gaze. All systems go; the glass is cold. You want to smash it, tow him straight out of the maze. It's as if you've done the deed already, but can't remember when (his glance gone grey to gold). This is muscle memory, then._

 

—and the bullet escaping the twitch of your finger.


End file.
